


next days

by catbeans



Series: after the breach [1]
Category: Pacific Rim (Movies)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-15
Updated: 2018-05-15
Packaged: 2019-05-07 09:21:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,849
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14668071
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/catbeans/pseuds/catbeans
Summary: Hermann had never felt an ache quite like this one, and he had felt plenty.He had been running on adrenaline first, and then on the necessity to keep running, pain and bone-deep exhaustion falling to such a low priority that he couldn't even consider it one anymore, and then it hadstopped.(the 18 hour nap date these guys deserve)





	next days

Hermann had never felt an  _ ache _ quite like this one, and he had felt plenty.

He had been running on adrenaline first, and then on the necessity to keep running, pain and bone-deep exhaustion falling to such a low priority that he couldn't even consider it one anymore, and then it had  _ stopped. _

The clock flipped to zero, and the Shatterdome erupted into cheers and shrieks that made the ache throughout his whole body--if he even had a body anymore, it didn't feel like it, more like every cell had been replaced with one sort of pain or another--feel like a cacophony.

It took a minute for it to start to sink in that the clock had really stopped, it was  _ over, _ and then Newt’s arms were tight around him, holding up most of his weight when he slung his arms just as tight around Newt’s shoulders, his cane dangling at Newt’s back.

He couldn't tell how long it was before Newt finally let him go, his arm still around Hermann’s waist until the tip of his cane was firmly on the floor--it didn't feel like time mattered at all anymore without the countdown running in his head of how long it would be until the alarms went off again.

They weren't going to.

Newt still hadn't moved his arm, and Hermann hadn't realized he was still leaning into him.

The whole room felt like a blur of noise and movement and colors flashing on screens as they numbly wove through the crowd to the hallway without having to say anything about it, Hermann’s free hand still gripping Newt’s sleeve.

It was just as loud there, the cheering and scattered sobs making Hermann’s ears ring. Newt had to pull him out of the way of a couple mechanics tearing down the hall, his hand on his cane wobbling slightly, but Newt still kept him upright, his arm still just as tight around Hermann’s waist as before.

He couldn't quite manage to pay attention to whose room they ended up stopping at; Newt helped him up those two blasted steps leading up to the heavy door, his free hand shaking slightly as he twisted the wheel and shoved it open with his shoulder.

It was Hermann’s, a couple pill bottles lined up on the desk and the walls bare of the pictures and posters taped up in Newt’s room. Neither of them could be bothered to stop to turn the light off or take off their shoes, Hermann’s cane clattering to the floor as they both tumbled onto the bed with a faint  _ crack. _

It took a second for either of them to realize it was the arm of Newt’s glasses.

Newt’s hand was still shaking when he pulled them off and tossed them next to the pill bottles.

Hermann didn't realize he was still holding onto Newt’s sleeve until his knuckles started to ache, stiffly letting go to wind his arm around Newt’s shoulders, his throat feeling tight when Newt pulled himself snug against Hermann’s chest with his face pressed to the curve of his neck, his breath coming out quick and uneven.

Hermann’s head was pounding--and Newt’s too, he knew, somehow, the echo of it throbbing in his own skull--but Newt was  _ there, _ warm and alive and as much in one piece as any of them seemed to be, the smell of sweat and dirt and blood caked into his shirt not enough to put a damper on that, and the last thing Hermann felt before the room went dark were Newt’s fingers gripping at the back of his jacket.

Hermann’s dreams had never been particularly eventful, if he could remember them at all; it was usually just brief flashes of thoughts or scenarios so mundane that it would take him a minute after waking up to realize that it hadn't actually happened, anything else easily forgotten soon after he got out of bed.

This wasn't like that.

He wasn't sure when it had started, or how, but all he could see was a blue that made his insides go cold, burn-bright and flashing with the same images he had seen with Newt and then some, and he already knew it was from Newt’s first drift alone. It wasn't coherent, bits and pieces rushing and blurring together, and everything started to shake--

It wasn't everything, he realized, back in his room so suddenly that it was jarring; it was Newt.

Hermann could feel his mouth moving against his neck, words that weren't making it past his throat, his fingers twitching erratically at Hermann’s back.

“Newton,” he whispered, rubbing at his shoulders and the back of his neck, but Newt just jerked like he had been stung. “Newton, you need to wake up.”

Hermann winced when he tried to shift some of his weight off of his hip, but he couldn't roll onto his back with the way Newt was still clinging; it felt like he had been hit by a train, his whole body feeling like lead.

“Newton,” he said again, a little louder, roughly shaking Newt’s shoulder when the only response was his breathing getting quicker.  _ “Newton.” _

Newt jerked again, holding so tightly onto the back of Hermann’s jacket that he could feel Newt’s fingernails, but he could feel Newt’s eyelashes tickling at his skin, too, finally opening.

“Hermann,” he gasped, the way his voice cracked making his chest ache. “They're--”

“It’s alright,” he said quietly, bringing his hand up to Newt’s hair, cupping his jaw when Newt pulled back just far enough to look at him; his eyes were wide and panicked and darting, taking a few seconds to focus on Hermann’s face, the flecks of blood still under his nose and the red in his eye making him look so  _ small. _ “You're alright.”

Newt blinked a couple times, his eyes tinged pink from more than the expected ocular damage.

“It was so,” he started to say, his voice rough and almost unnervingly quiet compared to his usual volume. “It was--it was  _ right there, _ just now,  _ Hermann--” _

“It wasn't,” Hermann insisted, rubbing away a smudge of dirt on Newt’s cheek with his thumb. “I promise.”

“How do you  _ know--?” _

“Because this happens sometimes,” he said. “After Drifts, you know that.”

“The hangover,” Newt said, barely above a whisper, some of the tension in his expression melting into relief as he nodded to himself before pressing his face to Hermann’s chest, desperately repeating, “It’s the hangover.”

Hermann nodded and pressed a kiss to the top of his head before realizing what he was doing, moving his hand down from Newt’s face to wrap his arm around his shoulders again.

It felt like ages before the shaking finally started to subside, Newt’s breathing getting slower and steadier.

“How the fuck do they deal with this?” he said eventually, still not pulling away or letting go.

Hermann held onto him a little tighter; the way Newt’s head twitched felt like a nod.

“Usually not with garbage,” he said.

Newt huffed a laugh, or at least something close to it, his arms tightening around Hermann’s waist just this side of too much, and Hermann didn't manage to bite back a strained grunt before Newt’s arms went stiff and he moved his hand down to rest lightly at Hermann’s hip.

“Sorry--”

“It’s fine.” It didn't really feel like it. “What time is it?”

Newt shifted to look down at his wrist, still not moving away, his other hand still gripping the front of Hermann’s sweater vest. 

“I liked that watch, shit...” He stiffly turned to look behind him at Hermann’s desk while Hermann pressed his face into the pillow, squeezing his eyes shut against the light that suddenly felt so glaring. “Isn’t that on military time?”

Hermann nodded.

“We missed dinner.”

_ “What?” _

“It’s been, like, eighteen hours,” Newt mumbled, turning back with his face nuzzled against Hermann’s neck with a muffled, “This fucking sucks.”

_ Eighteen _ hours…

“Newton,” Hermann said, squeezing at his shoulder before waving vaguely in the direction of his desk. “Would you get me that?”

Newt nodded, sitting up just as stiffly as when he had turned to look at the clock before stumbling out of the bed and picking up his glasses. “This one?”

“It’s the…” Hermann paused, gritting his teeth against the way his whole body seemed to creak as he tried to sit up before slumping back again. “The thinner bottle. And the crisps in the drawer.”

Newt nodded again and came back over with the bottle and a small crinkly bag.

“Thank you.”

“The cafeteria’s probably--”

Hermann shook his head, his fingers shaky and numb as he fumbled to pull the bag open before Newt sat down and reached over to do it for him.

“Already missed one,” he said, his hand still unsteady as he wolfed down the crisps before twisting open the cap on the bottle and dry-swallowing two pills with a grimace.

“You know you're gonna burn through your esophagus like that” Newt said, taking the bottle to put it back on the desk.

“I do know,” Hermann said. He didn't  _ usually _ take anything without water, and he was about to say that too, but even having to put words together felt like more energy than he had to spare.

He did finally seem to have the energy to notice how  _ disgusting _ he felt.

He could only imagine there would have to be blood still caked under his nose with the way there were still flecks of dried, brownish red under Newt’s, the grime he could feel from the sweat and rain and things he would rather not think about making his skin crawl, his shirt sticking in uncomfortable places.

Newt flicked at a smear of something on his pants, turning so he was mostly facing Hermann; his fingers twitched against the sheets a couple inches from Hermann’s hand.

“We look like shit,” he said, smile not quite reaching his eyes.

“You look like shit,” Hermann mumbled. “I need a…”

He trailed off when it hit him just how far away the showers were.

And  _ communal. _

Newt nodded without him needing to clarify, pushing his glasses a little higher on the bridge of his nose before remembering the broken screw when they wouldn’t stay straight.

“I got a…” he said, stumbling slightly when he suddenly stood up. “I got an idea.”

“There's a repair kit in the desk,” Hermann said, slow like the words had to fight to crawl up his throat, his hand flopping uselessly to the bed when he tried to gesture to the top drawer.

“These things are busted,” Newt said as he opened the door, but he closed it again before Hermann could say anything after he added, “I’ll be right back.”

The cramped room suddenly felt too big without anyone else in it.

Hermann took a deep breath, squeezing his eyes shut for a second before stuffing the thin pillow over his head.

It had only been a few minutes, judging by the clock on the desk, but it felt like longer before the door creaked open again without Newt knocking, and Hermann only pulled the pillow down from his head when he didn’t hear it shut again.

“Your ride,” Newt said, too worn down for his grin to look anything but tired as he held his arm out towards the hall.

“What are you--?” Hermann started to ask, but he stopped when he pushed himself up just enough to see the desk chair waiting for him at the bottom of the steps. “You're not serious.”

“I’m dead serious.”

“There are stairs on the way to the showers,” Hermann pointed out.

“We’re not going to the showers.”

_ “No.” _

“It’s up to you, man,” Newt said with a shrug. “We got the private suite.”

Hermann frowned.

Newt was right.

After a couple minutes of shuffling and Newt hauling him up from the bed, leaning equally on his cane and against Newt’s side, Newt was wheeling him down the hall towards the lab.

Hermann didn’t have the energy to be uncomfortable or annoyed about it, but even if he had, it wouldn’t have made much of a difference.

The halls were almost empty and eerily quiet without the usual rush; they passed one mechanic, her eyes dull and glazed and barely falling on them before she silently kept walking past them, someone else with the same dazed expression after they turned a corner who didn’t seem to notice them.

It was normally packed at that time in the evening.

It made Hermann’s insides twist; he heard Newt let out a slow, strained breath behind him before he pushed the chair a little faster.

Newt wheeled him into the lab, under the decontamination showers before he said, “Turn it past the tape for the hot water.”

“There’s not supposed to be hot water.”

“Which is why I fixed it,” Newt said. “You're welcome.”

Hermann waited until he heard Newt’s footsteps recede towards his desk, looking back to check that he was turned around before shuffling his jacket down his shoulders, peeling off his sweater vest and his shirt.

He hesitated for a second before tossing them on the floor out of the way of the shower, too much of a mess to bother with anything more than that.

It took some finagling to get his pants off without getting up from the chair before he tossed those down too; Newt had had to hose it down enough times that a shower wouldn't make much of a difference.

He had to bite back a hiss at the spray of cold water when he turned the knob before it started to warm up, leaning over to the sink for the bottle of handsoap in place of anything else. His whole body felt so heavy that it took him a few minutes just to scrub down his torso, frowning to himself at the bruises and scrapes he hadn't been able to notice before in the midst of everything else going on and every other ache throbbing under his skin.

Hermann had thought it had hit him before, the clock reaching zero, what that  _ meant, _ but his hands started to shake as he started on his arms, his heartrate getting nauseatingly faster.

It was over, but it was also just more funerals, the terrifying thought of what next.

He had to lean down to pick up the bottle of soap when it shook out of his hand.

He finished on his legs, scratching at a patch of grime stuck to his calf until his skin was raw and pink before scooting the chair forward to turn off the water.

He hadn't had the energy for the forethought for that part.

“Shit,” he muttered. “Newton, I don’t have any--”

He was cut off by a sweatshirt hitting the back of his head, a pair of sweatpants a second later.

He pulled the sweatshirt over his head, reaching for his cane so he could stand up to put on the sweatpants without getting them wet from the chair before he stumbled to the one in front of his own desk, the hems hanging around his wrists and his ankles.

He had to pull in a deep breath against the tightness in his chest when his eyes fell on the blackboard.

He would have followed through on the impulse to wipe it blank if the thought of having to get up again didn’t feel so impossible.

It made his insides twist almost as much as how empty the hallways were.

Hermann unsuccessfully tried to will himself up out of his seat for a minute, but Newt was already stripping out of his clothes before he could get very far.

“Gimme a minute,” he said, not bothering to wait for Hermann to turn away before he chucked his pants onto one of the few clean spots on his side of the lab and turned the water back on.

It was only a minute--and Hermann was thankful, every second in the lab making his skin crawl, and it shouldn't, he told himself, it was just a workspace, but it still did--before he heard Newt shut the water off, turning around a few seconds later to see him pulling on another set of spare clothes.

Having a lab partner who regularly got toxic substances on himself turned out to come in handier than he had thought.

_ That _ thought lead him to another that he firmly ignored as soon as it came to mind; for all the arguing about whose space was whose and the jabs about each other’s work, the idea of a lab without all of that felt uncomfortably empty and quiet.

Newt gestured towards the chair Hermann was sitting in, waiting for him to nod before stepping behind him to wheel him back to his room.

Newt wordlessly held out his arm once they reached the door to help him up the steps.

Hermann slumped down to the bed as soon as it was in reach, his cane clattering to the floor again as he scooted back towards the wall for Newt to have room to lie down, shuffling silently in next to him after putting his glasses on Hermann’s desk.

Hermann couldn't think of the last time Newt had been so quiet for so long.

He rolled onto the side of his better hip, letting Newt pull himself snug against Hermann’s chest, his arms almost crushingly tight around Hermann’s waist.

Hermann could feel his breathing against his throat, still uneven and shaky, fidgeting with the back of Hermann’s borrowed sweatshirt.

It was a few minutes of heavy silence before Newt said anything, his voice uncharacteristically small.

“What do we even do now?”

Hermann didn’t have any more of an answer to that than he did.

All he could picture when he looked forward was a blank, endless expanse of  _ nothing, _ no more work to be done or world-ending deadlines hanging over his head, and after so many years--his whole career--shaped by destruction and the absolute, dire necessity of everything he had been doing, Hermann didn’t know what to do with himself.

He stiffly moved his arm around Newt’s shoulders, absently rubbing his knuckles over his back; with the reality of it only really, solidly starting to set in after how  _ quiet _ the halls had been, he still hadn't quite processed anything else from the last couple days, no time before to fixate on finding Newt shaking and barely conscious on the floor of the lab, the crushing, overwhelming terror he had felt through the Drift from when Newt had been only feet away from imminent death, the first time when he had Drifted alone, going through that whole day unsure if either of them would make it to the next.

He had time now.

The helpless feeling of the biggest direction in his life suddenly being gone, and the itch in the back of his head of the guilt from feeling anything but relief, dimmed in comparison to the thought of Newt not being there.

He held his arms around Newt a little tighter.

Hermann wasn't sure how long it was while he drifted in and out of a thin, unsatisfying unconsciousness before his stomach rumbled, and he hoped Newt was asleep or hadn't noticed, not wanting to get up again even for that, but the top of Newt’s head bumped his chin as he pulled back slightly.

“You haven't eaten anything in, like, a day and a half.”

“Neither have you,” Hermann mumbled, and it took a second through the dull ache still pounding through his skull for him to realize how unconvincing that was as an argument to stay put before Newt let go of him, rubbing his knuckles over his eyes as he rolled out of the bed.

Hermann hadn't noticed the tape now holding the arm of Newt’s glasses together until he put them back on.

“You want me to grab you something?”

Hermann bit back a huff, shaking his head as he pushed himself upright; Newt held his hand out towards his cane on the floor, waiting for Hermann to nod before picking it up for him.

He had half a mind to find a change of his own clothes, but any movement aside from what was entirely necessary felt like too much.

Newt held his arm around Hermann’s waist to help him back down the steps, his hand still at the small of his back as Hermann dragged himself down the hall to the cafeteria.

The quiet there was even more jarring than before.

More often than not, he and Newt would bring their food back to the lab with little time to eat there, or get to the cafeteria so late that it at least made sense for the crowd to have mostly thinned out, but at that time most nights, the tables were packed and noisy, everyone talking over everyone else to be heard over all the other conversations in the room.

The tables were almost empty.

The handful of people in the room were sitting farther apart than the space required, not a word being spoken, hands moving slowly from their trays to their mouths like the air was too thick.

He felt Newt’s fingers twitch at his back before they went to the side of the room to get their trays.

Newt hesitated with his hand on the first tray, biting his lip as he glanced around for a second before he asked, “Do you want to go--?”

“Yes.”

Newt’s shoulders sagged in relief. He nodded, gesturing towards the refrigerated shelves before he started stuffing his pockets with anything in a package while Hermann put a couple juice boxes in the front pocket of his borrowed sweatshirt.

The back of Hermann’s neck prickled with the feeling of eyes on both of them as they went back out to the hall.

He only made it about halfway back to his room before Newt had to slow down for him, staying close enough that Hermann could lean against his side, his arm around Hermann’s waist again to help him up the steps.

Newt didn't move his hand from Hermann’s back until they had both sat down on the bed, close enough that their knees were touching and their elbows bumped together a couple times as they unloaded their pockets.

It took more willpower than Hermann would have liked to get through the thin sandwich Newt had handed him, his stomach still in knots as he washed it down with one of the juice boxes.

Newt was still mostly just picking at his.

Hermann leaned down to put the empty juice box and crumpled sandwich wrapper down on the floor, the small trashbin too far to reach without getting up; he didn’t question the impulse to reach for Newt’s hand, his fingers tapping erratically against his thigh, suddenly going stiff and still for a second before turning his palm upright to link his fingers with Hermann’s.

He hadn't noticed the deep scrape on Newt’s hand before, the face of his watch cracked and unmoving.

“Is that alright?” he asked quietly, brushing the fingers of his free hand along the edge of the scrape, careful not to touch it.

Newt looked down, his eyebrows twitching up like he hadn't noticed it yet either before he shrugged. “It’s nothing,” he said. “Probably just from the shelter.”

Hermann squeezed his hand, reaching for his cane to stand up, not letting go until he couldn't reach anymore to shuffle over to his desk.

“What are--?”

Hermann sat down again with a packet of alcohol swabs before he could finish his question.

He shifted to the side to face Newt, leaning his shoulder against the wall as he tore the first one open to dab away the dried flecks of blood on the back of his hand, pausing for a second when Newt winced before opening up the next one to more thoroughly clean out the scrape.

Newt was staring at him when he put the alcohol swabs down with his food wrappers, and Hermann’s breath caught in his throat for a second before he apologetically said, “I don’t have anything with me to--”

Newt’s lips were pressed against his before he could finish.

Hermann froze; Newt went stiff, his eyes panic-wide as he pulled back.

“I’m sorry--I didn’t--”

Hermann was the one to cut him off that time.

He moved his hand up to cup the back of Newt’s neck, their teeth clacking together at first when he tugged Newt back in to kiss him; then it was Newt who froze for a second, stiffening up again before he pulled Hermann against him with his arm around Hermann’s waist, a soft, almost needy sound bubbling up from his throat.

They barely pulled away even when they broke the kiss for a quick breath, their foreheads still touching, so close Newt’s eyes were crossed to keep looking at Hermann before he leaned in to kiss him again.

Hermann’s hand slipped down from Newt’s neck to his shoulder, about to bring his other hand up to the front of his shirt before he felt Newt wince.

Newt didn’t pull away, but Hermann remembered the tear in his jacket, the bruises over his own body probably only a fraction of what Newt had; he carefully pulled the collar of Newt’s sweatshirt out of the way just enough to see the edge of another scraped bruise, the sort of color that Hermann could tell would only get darker.

“Hang on,” he said, not managing much more than a whisper as he pressed a quick kiss to the corner of Newt’s mouth before reaching for his cane again.

Newt’s cheeks were endearingly flushed when Hermann turned around after getting a couple more alcohol swabs.

He shuffled back onto the bed, sitting on his knees at Newt’s side before he gestured for him to turn around.

Newt winced again as he turned so his back was to Hermann, stiffly leaning his other shoulder against the wall and unzipping his sweatshirt a few inches. Hermann carefully held the fabric up from his skin to keep from dragging along the scrape as he pulled the collar down around his shoulder, biting back a frown at the angry splotch of red almost the size of his palm. It was mostly just the bruise, Newt’s jacket taking the worst of it, but there were still a few flecks of dirt peppered along the shallow scrapes in the center of it that Newt hadn't managed to get under the decontamination shower.

“You should have said something,” Hermann chided, setting the wrapper of one of the alcohol swabs down next to him. “You're going to end up with something infected like this.”

“I was a  _ little _ preoccupied--”

Newt cut himself off with a hiss as Hermann started dabbing the alcohol swab over the worst of the scrape.

“Sorry,” he whispered, pressing a quick kiss to the back of Newt’s neck as he gently rubbed at the scrape until it was shiny and clean, the smell tingling in his sinuses. “Where else?”

He couldn't imagine that was the last of it.

Newt shrugged, tilting his head to the side with a faint shiver when Hermann kissed the side of his neck, the reluctance clear as he tapped his knee.

Hermann scooted back for him to turn around again.

“You don’t have to do this,” Newt said. “We probably need to go down to medical anyway.”

“I know,” Hermann said quietly, tearing open another alcohol swab. “Pull the leg up.”

Newt tried to pull the leg of his sweatpants up over his knee, but he couldn't get it very far without wincing again, and Hermann held his hand over Newt’s wrist before he could try too hard.

“Just take them off.”

Newt nodded.

Hermann almost wished he would have cracked some joke about him trying to get in his pants; the fact that he didn’t say anything didn’t leave him feeling particularly optimistic.

Newt let his pants fall to the floor, fidgeting with the hem of his underwear while Hermann leaned in to get a better look at his knee, the scrape and the shade of his bruise both deeper than on his shoulder, more grit still stuck on his skin, and maybe if he didn’t wear those stupid pants…

“What?”

Hermann’s hand went still with the alcohol swab a couple inches above his knee, not realizing until then that he had said it out loud.

“This might not be so bad if you wore pants like an adult--”

“Hermann,” Newt interrupted, pinching the beige of his nose, “I swear to fucking god, of all the times--”

“I’m sorry,” Hermann said, cutting off the  _ never mind _ before it could come out; it wasn't the time.

Newt shook his head to himself, dropping his hand between them, the backs of his fingers brushing against Hermann’s thigh.

Hermann moved his free hand down closer to Newt’s, their fingers lacing together again as he started rubbing the alcohol swab over the scrape.

Newt hissed again, gripping Hermann’s hand so tightly that it started to ache, his jaw visibly clenching while Hermann gently scrubbed away the grit before tearing the next alcohol swab open with his teeth; it didn’t occur to him to let go of Newt’s hand to do it.

Newt’s fingers twitched again as Hermann carefully swiped over his knee until it looked as clean as his shoulder had.

Newt let out a slow breath Hermann didn’t realize he had been holding once he put the last alcohol swab down on the floor with the rest of the trash that he decided he could get to later.

Newt still hadn't let go of his hand either while Hermann had leaned down, his eye split into shards behind the cracked lens of his glasses when Hermann looked back up at him, his left eye still ringed in an angry red.

Hermann still hadn't seen his reflection since the last night, and he could only imagine his eye looked the same, confirmed a couple seconds later when Newt moved his hand up to cup the side of his face, his thumb rubbing along Hermann’s cheekbone.

“We match.”

Hermann let out a sharp exhale that sounded something like a laugh.

“I think yours must be worse,” he said quietly, their faces close enough that he could feel Newt’s breath on his chin. “Doing it twice.”

“We should…” Newt started to say, his eyes crossing slightly again when he glanced down towards Hermann’s from. “We should get that checked out.”

Hermann nodded, but Newt kissed him again before he could say anything else, whatever he might have said suddenly gone from his mind, replaced with the feeling of Newt’s lips on his and his hand slipping down to the back of his neck, touching him so softly it made his chest feel achy and warm all at once.

He only managed to put a thought together once Newt pulled back, moving his hand from Hermann’s neck to rub at his shoulder.

He should probably get that checked out too, Hermann thought.

“We should go down soon,” he said, placing his hand on Newt’s thigh just above the edge of the bruise stretching across his knee.

“I mean,” Newt said, “they’re probably swamped…”

His face fell as he trailed off; they might have been swamped if more rangers had made it back.

The ache in Hermann’s chest grew heavier.

It didn’t get any easier the more times it happened.

“Then we should get in line,” Hermann said, firmly ignoring the fact that there probably wouldn’t be one. “You know how long these things take.”

First, he realized that Newt probably didn’t, not spending hours and hours over years and years in waiting rooms before he even made it to a doctor, but then he realized that Newt would now.

He had seen plenty of that.

Newt nodded.

Hermann stiffly stood up while Newt pulled his pants back on, fighting back a wince when he had to bend over to pull a clean change of clothes out of his drawers.

“Seriously--”

“I’ve spent more than enough time in medical settings without the option of having my own clothing,” he said, nudging the drawer shut with the bottom of his cane before sitting back on the bed to change out of Newt’s sweatshirt. “I would much rather take that option when I  _ do _ have it.”

Newt frowned, but he nodded, his eyes tentatively darting along Hermann’s torso before his eyebrows shot upwards when Hermann pulled the right sleeve of his shirt up his arm.

“When the hell did you get ripped?”

Hermann was about to ask what he meant before Newt gestured towards his arm.

“This does require some work,” he said, tapping the side of his foot against his cane where it was propped up against the bed.

Newt snorted, looking away a couple seconds too late when Hermann tugged the sweatpants down his legs. “No shit.”

Hermann only stood up once he had to pull the clean pair up his hips, slumping back down to the bed for a few seconds before reaching for his cane again.

He didn't have much of a reason to hold his hand out for Newt to stand up; he wasn't the one who would need the bit of help, not leaning any of his weight on Hermann, and he only let go of Hermann’s hand after taking the last few steps to the door.

“Do you…” he started to say, his mouth opening and shutting a couple times before he continued, “I know you’re not really into coffee, that sounds kind of cliched anyway, it doesn’t--it wouldn’t have to be, like, actual coffee, or--”

“Newton, what on--”

“Do you want to go out somewhere?” Newt blurted out. “After this?”

“Oh.” It hit him that, aside from their disastrous first time meeting in person, they had never really done anything like that in any kind of context, their time together made up almost entirely of work and hasty meals and preciously rare minutes of downtime here and there, always with  _ more work _ hanging over their heads the entire time; they didn’t have any of that anymore. “Yes,” he said. “I would like that.”

Newt blinked, his head dipping in a jerky nod a couple seconds later like he hadn't actually been expecting that answer before stepping around him to open the door.

Hermann cut him off before he could say anything when he gestured to Hermann’s chair still sitting in the hallway from when Newt had pushed him back from the lab.

“I am not going to medical in a desk chair.”

“Do you think  _ I--” _

“No,” Hermann said, starting off down the hallway while Newt pushed the chair closer to his door before speeding up for a couple steps to catch up with him.

“Buzzkill.”

Newt didn’t bother looking around before linking his fingers loosely with Hermann’s. 

**Author's Note:**

> @hermannsgayhands on tumblr! (or hansolosbi)
> 
> im still kinda ehhhHHHH on this one but im thinking of doing like. another fic or a series kinda thing of Avoiding Literally Everything About Uprising and this is the second time i wrote this so i wanted to just get it posted and done with lol


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